


a son and daughter rolled into one

by spinner_of_yarns



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale’s nonbinary too but it’s not mentioned, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Gen, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Nonbinary Warlock Dowling, Other, Podfic Available, The Dowlings' A+ Parenting (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner_of_yarns/pseuds/spinner_of_yarns
Summary: Crowley didn’t get summoned often, but every couple of years there was that familiar pain of a soul nearby, so desperate as to wish for help from a demon. And, well. If Crowley didn’t take those calls, who would?Warlock summons a demon and guess who it is.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Comments: 17
Kudos: 343





	a son and daughter rolled into one

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I haven’t abandoned someone who won’t run away. I don’t really have much energy at the moment, so I thought I would just write a quick piece. The title is from Son and Daughter by Queen, cause I was looking for a suitable Queen lyric to use and this is an enby mood.  
> Additional warning for transphobia and parental abuse/neglect. It isn’t shown, but it is discussed and implied so take care.

Crowley didn’t get summoned often. Less people tried, as the belief in otherworldly creatures dwindled down with the centuries. And even if they believed or were willing to try it anyway, they rarely knew how to properly summon a demon. Finding a true incantation would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, if the haystack was made of fake spells that used someone’s bodily fluids too often for comfort. Besides, most books that had at least a sliver of truth in them when it comes to taming the occult or celestial were in Aziraphale’s possession.

So no, Crowley didn’t get physically dragged away to do someone’s bidding often. But there was a different type of summoning. Someone desperate enough, whose prayers have gone unanswered and whose earthly options seem sparse, might just appear on a demon’s radar. And, well. If Crowley didn’t take those calls, who would? No one. (1)

(1) That or the call would get redirected to some awful demon, who would find any loophole to hurt the human or steal their soul for a tiny favor. And Crowley wasn’t nice, no, but the thought of someone desperate enough that demons can hear them being damned just because they tried to ask for help was unbearable.

So Crowley helped when it was possible. Even those types of summonings didn’t happen often, but every couple of years there was that familiar pain of a soul nearby, so desperate as to wish for help from a demon.

This is not even the first time it has happened since Crowley went freelance. It has been a few years, and Crowley mostly still worked in minor acts of arseholery, widespread low-level mischief and the occasional good deed. They weren’t in Aziraphale’s name, not anymore, not now that they got to do whatever they please, but it was still nice to be able to hide behind the guise of the Arrangement. If Crowley was good, it was only as a favour for Aziraphale, nothing more. This crutch had outgrown its intended purpose, but Crowley was loathe to let go of it. Demons weren’t nice, after all. They weren’t kind. If Crowley was kind, what would that make Crowley? One couldn’t exactly un-fall, (2) but could a demon become something else?

(2) Rising was a myth to scare little demons into misbehaving.

It scared Crowley, not that Crowley would admit it. Becoming something else after six thousand years of being one thing was quite a terrifying prospect, even for a demon who wasn’t scared of anything, no sir.

Crowley felt the calling late at night. Crowley wasn’t sure what time it was, since they were fast asleep before the summoning, but the world behind the window was dark. The stars were obscured by dark clouds and rain was tapping against the windowpane. Crowley let the summoning do its work, dragging the demon out of the cozy bed and into the streets. Instead of a cold Mayfair flat Crowley found themself in a cold park, under a dreadfully familiar bandstand.

_At least I won’t get wet_ , Crowley thought, grasping at the slightest straw of optimism.

The summoner in questions was a kid. They couldn’t have been more than fifteen, although Crowley’s never been good at guessing anyone’s age. They were young, at any rate. Their cheeks were wet and Crowley had a sneaking suspicion not all of it was from the rain.

“It worked,” they said, surprise in their voice.

“Yeah, well, wasn’t really doing anything at the time,” Crowley lied. “Might as well do some work.”

The kid just stared at them. At least, Crowley thought they did. Most of their face was hidden by a hood and dark sunglasses, which seemed ridiculous at this time of night, but Crowley wasn’t exactly in the position to judge.

“So, I assume you summoned me for a reason?”

The kid broke out of their stupor. “Yes, yes, of course,” they said, fidgeting in a way that reminded Crowley of Aziraphale. “I want…I want revenge.”

Crowley scoffed. “No, you don’t.” Demons couldn’t tell what exactly people desired, but they could tell whether they desired the things the demons offered, or the thing they said they wanted. Crowley wasn’t sure if it was a thing of demon nature or simply a thing one picks up in this line of trade, but in the end it probably didn’t matter.

The kid was hiding from the rain in the only covering in a park in the middle of the night and Crowley was pretty sure there were tears at best and a black eye at worst hiding under their sunglasses. At a guess, they just thought revenge was something they should say. No vulnerability in front of the strange demon, which Crowley could respect, though it was not ideal for his job.

“What do you know?” the kid snapped. “You spend all your time in hell. What do you know about what people want? You’re probably out of touch as hell.”

Crowley laughed. This, if nothing else, was a refreshing break from the routine. “I’m more of an Earth demon, to be honest. I might not spend all that much time with people, but I know desire. And I know that is not what you truly want. So,” Crowley paused for dramatic effect. “What _do_ you want?”

They seemed to deflate a little. “I don’t know.”

“You literally summoned a demon to get what you want. You must have some idea.”

“I want out!” They screamed. They were telling the truth this time, but Crowley couldn’t exactly work with something this vague. (3)

(3) Other demons would probably use this to their advantage, but Crowley couldn’t. They were just a scared kid.

“I want to be somewhere safe. Away from my parents.”

Crowley blessed under their breath. This seemed more and more like the black eye scenario.

The kid kept talking. “I want better parents. Different ones. I want someone who will respect me. Who will be there for me. Who will actually love me for me, not some idea of me they imagined while they were too busy to actually pay attention to me! I want my na-“ they cut themself off. They stayed silent for a moment and Crowley considered asking what it was that they almost said, the thing they seemed to want so badly and were resolute not to say but thought better of it. They wouldn’t respond well if pushed.

“I don’t wanna stand here in the rain with a demon who probably doesn’t care about any of this!”

Crowley snapped her fingers and suddenly they were standing in the bookshop, dry. This shocked the kid into silence.

“I care,” Crowley said. “I can help you.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice came from the back. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, angel,” Crowley called back. “I brought work with me.”

“And what makes you think I want to stay with a gay demon?” the kid hissed. The prickliness was familiar ground for Crowley.

“I’m not gay. Well, not in the way you’re thinking. I’m not a man.”

“Oh.” They put their hands into the pocket of their hoodie. “Sorry. What pronouns do you use?”

“None if I can help it,” Crowley flashed a fanged grin. “They, sometimes. Or any other that I fancy at the moment. Humans call me all sorts of things, I don’t really care.”

The kid nodded and thought for a little. “I use they/them,” they said eventually.

“Okay,” Crowley said simply. This must have been the right answer because their shoulders sagged in relief.

Aziraphale poked his head into the shop proper. “I made hot cocoa if you want some, my dear.”

“I’m not drinking something a stranger hands me! You could be trying to poison me for all I know.”

Aziraphale’s sweet smile stood unwavering. “The offer stands if you change your mind. It has tiny marshmallows.”

Crowley rolled their eyes. Of course the angel chose bribery instead of reassurance. It worked, too, or at least awakened the kid’s curiosity enough for them to trail after Aziraphale to the back room.

They sat at the edge of the sofa, like it was going to swallow them whole. Crowley had a standing feud with the bookshop sofa since 1957 and wouldn’t be surprised if it resorted to cannibalism. Erh. Whatever it is called when a piece of furniture consumes a human or a human-shaped being. Crowley sat next to them, leaving enough space between them as to not crowd the kid, and glared at the sofa for good measure.

The kid gingerly took the mug offered to them, bringing it up their lips. Before they could taste the chocolate the steam from the beverage clouded their glasses, a pain Crowley was all too familiar with. “Fudge,” they blessed, using a word Crowley would’ve thought too uncool for a teenager like them. They took the sunglasses off, trying to wipe at them uselessly.

Their eyes were green and familiar and perfect and Crowley and Aziraphale both found themselves frozen.

Warlock Dowling looked up. “What?” they snapped. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, ah, ngk,” Crowley tried speaking, failing miserably. They cleared their throat and tried again. “You…you’re-“

“Warlock,” Aziraphale whispered.

Warlock’s hands shook. “How do you know my name?”

Crowley tried not to cry out, pressing a hand to their mouth to silence a sob that tried tearing out of their throat.

“Do you still use that name?” Aziraphale asked. “I don’t want to presume, only that’s the name we knew you as, my dear child.”

“Yeah, I’m still Warlock. You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Hellspawn,” Crowley whimpered involuntarily. They didn’t mean to say anything, but they’ve missed Warlock so badly.

Warlock’s head whipped to them. “Nanny?”

Crowley couldn’t do anything but nod and then suddenly their arms were full of a not-antichrist, shaking and crying.

“Shhh, shhh. Nanny’s here.”

“Nanny!”

Crowley held Warlock until they both stopped crying. Then she pushed Warlock away, holding them by their shoulder, studying their face. They didn’t have a black eye after all, luckily for Thaddeus. She wouldn’t hold back if he touched her little hellspawn. “You’ve grown,” she said dumbly, the reaction of every relative seeing a child for the first time in a while.

Warlock, reacting like any child faced with this reaction who was comfortable enough with the adult rolled their eyes and said “Duh.”

Crowley ruffled Warlock’s now longer hair in retaliation.

“You look just the same,” Warlock said, quite nonsensically. Crowley’s disguise was top notch, excuse you. “I’ve never seen your eyes before.”

“That was on purpose.”

“Duh. Do you only ever state the obvious, Nanny?”

Crowley would’ve been offended if he wasn’t so blessed happy to see Warlock again. Except-

“What did I tell you about demons, young, uh. Youngling!”

Warlock made a face. “You can call me young man if _that_ is the alternative.”

“Warlock!”

“You said I would be commanding all demons!”

“What did I say about making deals with them!”

Warlock winced. “Not to? But you would never hurt me!”

“You clearly didn’t know it was me. You could’ve gotten hurt!”

“I already did! I’d rather take my chances with a demon!”

The room lapsed into a stunned silence. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I think that’s quite enough of fighting, don’t you? Ma- uh. Mis- no.” He sighed. “Young Warlock has clearly had an eventful night and must be tired. You’re both insufferable when you haven’t gotten enough sleep and I refuse to deal with that.”

Warlock grinned. “Brother Francis! I always knew you and Nanny were in love.”

Crowley’s mouth was incapable of letting out anything other than random consonants, it seemed. Aziraphale blinked slowly. “You humans have strange ideas for jokes.”

“Ugh, nanny, did you not tell him? I thought you said I should face my fears head on.”

“Doesn’t mean _I_ have to,” Crowley muttered. He cleared his throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right.” Warlock took a sip of their miraculously still hot cocoa. “Anyway, I didn’t really make a deal with you. I only said what I wanted. We didn’t really agree on anything.”

“You summoned me and asked for something. If it was anyone other than you, I would’ve already had their soul on a list in hell.”

“Bullshit,” Warlock laughed.

“Warlock! Language,” Aziraphale chastised them.

“Nanny said I shouldn’t censor myself.”

Aziraphale glared at Crowley, who shrunk a little. “I think it’s important to recognise what situation calls for a certain kind of language,” Aziraphale said.

“Right. And nanny saying bullshit called for me saying it.”

Aziraphale sighed, clearly not having the energy to argue the point. “Well, I suppose you’re right. I doubt your nanny would drag anyone to hell.”

“Angel! I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Not in front of me you don’t,” Warlock protested. “I know you. You’re my nanny. And you’re kind.”

Crowley scoffed unconvincingly.

“I was quite serious when I said you should both get some sleep.”

Warlock rubbed the back of their neck. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“What?”

“I said I’d help, didn’t I? I’m not going to kick you out if you don’t want to go back to the Dowlings’.”

Warlock looked at her warily. “Promise?”

“Of course. On my wings.”

Warlock nodded. “Can I see your wings later?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Why can’t you go back?” Aziraphale asked. “Did something happen?”

Warlock shrugged. “Tried coming out to dad. Didn’t go well.”

Crowley drew them into his arms. “Oh, hellspawn. You can stay here as long as you want.” He swallowed his fear down and continued. “You said you wanted parents who actually care. I can do that, if you want.”

“We both can,” Aziraphale added, placing a hand on Warlock’s shoulder.

“I thought you said not to make deals with demons.”

“Other demons, hellspawn. But you don’t have to say yes. And you can back out anytime. I can find you a different family, someone human, someone who’d love you as much as I do-”

“Yes. Please, Nanny, I want to stay with you. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, darling.”

“As sweet as this is, it’s way past your bedtime, both of you. Please go sleep before you start crying again.”

“I’m not tired,” protested Warlock, a yawn fighting to escape them.

“Of course you’re not. That’s why you can barely keep your eyes open.”

Warlock stuck their tongue out at Aziraphale and Crowley could cry at this, watching their two favourite people in the world together. Maybe being something new wasn’t that bad if they could have this.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] a son and daughter rolled into one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002659) by [spinner_of_yarns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner_of_yarns/pseuds/spinner_of_yarns)




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